


Cliché

by professortennant



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at their relationship and why it's maybe not as cliché as you'd think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cliché

Their relationship is almost a cliché.

He finds himself feeling both impossibly young and old. His knees creak and his back pops in the morning. She rolls her eyes and drops to her knees and rubs her fingertips over his sore muscles, joking about not getting out of their date tonight because of some aches and pains.

She also brings out the best in him—the youngest in him. It makes him reckless, daring, brave.

He drags her out of the pub and boxes her in against the edge of the alleyway, his mouth hot and insistent on hers, his hands tight on her hips and his thigh slotted neatly between her legs. They could be caught any moment, recognized any moment. He can’t bring himself to care with her in his arms.

It works both ways, he makes her feel older and younger (well, her age). Sometimes he acts as teacher, as guide. He pulls her down into the vee of his legs on the floor and hands her Shakespearean Tragedies and tells her to think about her work, to think about the meaning of the characters and to dig deeper, push herself harder. It’s frustrating and she’s sometimes envious of his experience, but he rewards her with kisses peppered along the curve of her neck and she can’t remember to feel young and inexperienced.

Other times, she gets to feel like his equal, his partner. He takes her hand without hesitation but doesn’t parade her around like she’s some young thing to showcase. He asks her opinion on whether or not he should get curtains for his flat and he shyly offers her a drawer in his bedroom. She feels part of his life and she thinks maybe they’re moving too fast.

And then there are the times where age doesn’t seem to matter—where they aren’t younger or older or any of it. They’re just them. Just two bodies gasping and panting against one another, eliciting moans and groans and pleasure. They’re just fingers and hands and tongues and mouths gliding over skin and licking and kissing and biting. 

They’re just two people who lean against one another—reading in bed, who kiss each other good night, who go to work in the morning, who buy milk and eggs and make omelets at 10 o’clock at night.

They’re just them, they fight and bicker and roll their eyes and say hurtful things to each other. They’re people who come back, who kiss and makeup and hug so tightly they can’t breathe and murmur apologies.

They’re just Chris and Billie and they live in their own beautiful, ageless microcosm.


End file.
